


A Spoonful Of Sweetness

by Sodium_Azide



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Canon-Typical Drinking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Spoon Theory, mentions of Snake Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: Most angels, if they appear to mortals at all, do so in terrifying glory. One principality in particular seeks to be comforting to his humans, even if that means that his favorite demon will laugh himself sick at the sight of him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 162





	A Spoonful Of Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> This was a silly idea that grew into an even sillier conversation on Discord. I love the idea of Aziraphale being sweet, and awkwardly supportive of the humans in his care, and that channeling into his angelic aspect.

“What’s up with spoonssss now?” Crowley slurred.

The angel wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach, unlike his companion, but still blinked for a moment in confusion. “They haven’t changed in a thousand years, my dear.” He frowned a bit and took another sip of wine. “Well, aesthetically, I suppose. Better than having to carve each one out of wood, like they used to have to do.”

The demon tried to wave his arm, realized there was a glass in it, and kicked his feet instead. “No, no-there’s a meanin’ to ‘em now. Bless it, I hope this isn’t some stupid trend like fancy tulips or hobble skirts. Hated them. Hard enough to walk when I’m female, with the hips and all.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Remember powdered wigs?”

“No! We agreed those never happened! You slipped-pay up!”

Aziraphale pouted, but refilled his companion’s glass to the brim while the demon snickered triumphantly.

They sipped in silence for a short time, the room full of memories, before Crowley shook himself back to lucidity. “I mean, the humans talk about spoons like they mean something more now, not just for eatin’ with.”

He continued to kick his feet leisurely over the arm of the Chesterfield he was draped over as the angel abruptly stiffened in his chair.

The quiet of the room continued for a moment, as the demon sipped thoughtfully.

“It means effort.”

Crowley startled a little, then angled his head in an attempt to meet his companion’s eyes, which were determinedly staring down into his own glass.

The angel swallowed once, color beginning to rise in his cheeks, as he soldiered on. “The metaphor of spoons, you know. It’s not literal. The humans aren’t carrying around dining utensils these days. I’m sure there’s more newfangled nuance to them, but if a human says they ‘have the spoons’ for something, it means they have the energy required to make the effort to do some task”

Crowley opened his mouth, wrinkled his brows, and settled back down as Aziraphale made the jerky little shrug that meant he was feeling deeply uncomfortable with the current conversation but hadn’t figured out a way to change the subject. “So yes, that’s all. It just refers to ‘a spoonful’ of energy or effort. Charming modern slang, yes? Another colorful bit of vernacular for you.”

Snakeskin boots hit the old hardwood as the demon unsuccessfully tried again to catch Aziraphale’s eye. “How’ju know that, angel?”

The angel took a gulp of his drink without attempting to appreciate it. Crowley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and he let the silence hang while he sobered himself up.

“Well, it might be argued, from a particular point of view, not to minimize human ingenuity of course, that perhaps-”

“Out with it, angel.”

“It was my idea.” Aziraphale muttered.

The demon grinned. “There. Was that so hard? Bit weird, but it’s not the first time something we said caught on with the humans. Bit of an odd metaphor, though. How did that happen?”

The angel was practically squirming in his chair, which seemed a bit of an overreaction, frankly. Crowley’s grin slowly began to widen. Something was definitely under the surface here. “How did it happen, angel?” He crooned enticingly. 

The angel set his jaw stubbornly and didn’t answer, feigning fascination with something in the distance. Crowley reached out an inhumanly long leg and nudged the angel’s foot with his own. “Come on, angel. I promise I won’t laugh.”

“That is absolutely a lie and we both know it.”

“I won’t laugh very long, then.”

Aziraphale glanced momentarily at him, then away, then back as his companion rocked side to side in unselfconsciously reptilian fashion, unblinking golden eyes slitted gleefully. Those pretty eyes widened as the angel blushed and set his drink aside to tangle his hands together on his lap. “It’s rather personal, but if you promise to keep your fiendish cackling to a minimum, I can explain.” 

Crowley tilted his head, expression shifting from mischievous to curious. Still flushing, Aziraphale sat up from his prior slump as their shared bottle of burgundy regained its contents. “I don’t know if you are aware, but most angels of the higher choirs have an aspect of some kind, aside from our assigned corporations. Michael’s dragon form is fairly well known even among the humans, for example.”

The demon nodded slowly. “Yeah, we keep those, even after we Fell.”

“Just so, yes.” Aziraphale acknowledged. “So we have a celestial form, which is our most essential, least physical form of ourselves. And we have corporations that we inhabit, for when we need to interact with the humans. I believe that you and I have similar experiences there. However, our aspect is somewhat malleable. Some angels may shift their primary...appearance, if you will, if circumstances inspire them to do so. An angel familiar with Earth, and with being physically embodied, might, instead of being an ethereal vision of thousands of all-seeing eyes or a lion wreathed in holy fire, take on a simpler terrestrial form that suited them better.”

Crowley fought a smile. “For example, an angel stationed in physical form, on Earth, since, say, the Garden of Eden?”

“Again, just so, my dear.” Aziraphale responded drily. 

“Yeah, this is cool, but still not seeing how this relates to spoons.”

The angel’s blush returned with a vengeance. “So we know that true forms and true names have a strong link to what an entity actually is, yes? We saw this happen at the End That Wasn’t, when the Hellhound was not named something horrible, and was close to being just a sweet pet as a result. Just as you have your own habits such as a strong dislike of the cold.”

Crowley grimaced, but shrugged a shoulder in affirmation.

“Well, as it happens, I am no exception to this tendency, and-well, turn around, will you?”

“Wot?”

“Turn around, and I’ll show you, but wait until I say so. It will make sense if I just show you.” 

Crowley slowly turned until he faced the opposite wall. “If you’re going to immolate me in divine light, just give me a warning, then.” he called over his shoulder. 

There was a long pause, then a quiet flutter of wings. When it came, the angel’s voice was low and shy. “There was no danger, my dear. You can look.”

The demon spun like a top in his eagerness, stared, then clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as tears of suppressed laughter wet his cheeks.

“Oh really, Crowley!”

“I’m not made of stone, angel.” he gasped, fanning himself helplessly. “Just give me a moment.”

Aziraphale, perched on the top of his armchair, ruffled his rosy pink feathers moodily. 

Crowley wiped his eyes, slumping back as he beamed joyfully at his friend. “I don’t even know what you are. Don’t get me wrong, you’re the most huggable thing I’ve ever seen, and the pink is pretty, but if you are some kind of terrestrial bird, I don’t know what it is.”

Aziraphale, now approximately the size of a picnic basket and lacking any human characteristics, still gave the impression of embarrassed hand-wringing. “I’m a Roseate Spoonbill. _Platalea ajaja_. My species is endangered, thank you.”

“You’re pink. Why are you pink.”

“Because shrimp are delicious. If you don’t approve of me being pink, then I’m sorry, but I refuse to abstain from seafood for some-”

“Wait. Wait-wait-wait. You explained the idea of emotional energy management and mental fortitude to the humans, using spoons as a metaphor, because of your angelic aspect?”

“I...tend to think in spoons, yes. Likely a better choice might have been, ah, steps on a staircase or sips from a glass, but, yes. I tend to think of spoonfuls instead of mouthfuls. And oh, Crowley, she was so upset, and I was just trying to make her feel better, and then apparently it got around, and someone published a book, oh, a couple of decades ago now, and now there are whole communities of people calling themselves spoonies, and I feel so awkward about it.”

Crowley was still giggling to himself, but his expression was soft. “That’s...actually really sweet, but still incredibly funny to me. You look like what would happen if someone tried to describe a flamingo to a police sketch artist.”

Aziraphale curled his neck to hide his head under his magenta wing, and the demon jolted up in penitence. “No! Sorry, it’s not-that’s not what I meant. You’re pretty, angel, I swear. I would absolutely pet your pink self if I had the chance. You look very pettable, and it was a great metaphor for the humans-worked, dinnit?”

There was no movement from the little dome of feathers for a moment, before Aziraphale unfolded and hopped down from his chair, the long sticklike legs of a wading bird making it easy to step up onto the Chesterfield alongside the demon. He paused for a moment and angled his head. “Do you still want to pet me?”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted as his hand did, hovering above the angel’s feathers. “May I?”

Aziraphale elegantly stepped forward and settled himself cozily onto Crowley’s narrow lap. He didn’t quite fit, but he fluffed himself as if he was in the best of all possible nests, then waited.

The demon abandoned his attempt at keeping his face under control. Looking unabashedly thrilled, he gently stroked the long feathers. “I’m going to take you to every seafood restaurant in this city. You’re going to be the pinkest angel that ever lived.”

“I love you too, Crowley.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are curious about what Crowley is looking at, [here](https://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/roseate-spoonbill) is the Audubon page for Aziraphale's species. And yes, the use of spoons as a metaphor for mental health has only been around since approximately 2003, and was begun by Christine Miserandino, but has grown hugely since then. Her original article is [here](https://butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/). 'Spoonies' typically refer to those with chronic pain or other situations, who might use the idea of spoons to communicate the idea of limited mental or physical capabilities to their friends and loved ones. This is a _very_ general explanation of the idea, and I encourage you to Google it if you're curious!


End file.
